


The Part Where You Beg For Your Life

by ResidentHesitant



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Death Threats, Flirting, Moral Dilemmas, literally flirting with death, or your unfriendly neighborhood scarecrow in this case, party is just making fun of korse the whole time, the flirting is all non-serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 02:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResidentHesitant/pseuds/ResidentHesitant
Summary: “Ooh, Mr. Exterminator.” That damn red-haired killjoy is leaning across the counter in the abandoned gas station Korse has been standing in for about two minutes. They have a tote bag filled with supplies sitting beside them, and had been fishing through the cash register for forgotten carbons when Korse arrived. “You here to arrest me?”





	The Part Where You Beg For Your Life

“Ooh, Mr. Exterminator.” That damn red-haired killjoy is leaning across the counter in the abandoned gas station Korse has been standing in for about two minutes. They have a tote bag filled with supplies sitting beside them, and had been fishing through the cash register for forgotten carbons when Korse arrived. “You here to arrest me?”

Korse’s grip tightens on his gun, knuckles paling against white plastic. The killjoy -- Party Poison, they’re called -- has their chin in one hand, elbow on the counter, and isn’t wearing a mask. They don’t even have the decency to even look scared or ready to fight. They just stare at Korse from the counter, all devious hazel eyes and long, fluttering lashes, a lazy smirk playing across their face. Korse hates how he is noticing this.

The killjoys raises their hand, the one not holding their head up, and waggles their fingers in Korse’s direction. “Yoo hoo,” they call, “Mr. Exterminator? Am I free to go?”

Korse snarls. He’s frustrated; this damn kid is already getting on his nerves. He takes a step forward, and the kid snorts, smirking more. What was the phrase? “Don’t get cocky, kid?” Yeah, that’s it. Clearly something Party Poison had never heard.

“I could kill you right now,” is what he says in the end, taking another step forward. Party just raises their eyebrows, chin in both hands now, head tilting up as Korse steps closer and closer. They stand up once Korse is actually standing in front of the counter.  _ Hello sir, welcome to Dead Pegasus, did you find everything you were looking for?  _ They’re shorter than he is, Korse notices.

“Is this the part where I beg for my life?” Party says, tilting their head, “Here, lemme get into character.” Korse takes half a step back, confused, as they hop up onto the counter and strike a pose, horizontal, back of one hand on their forehead and the other propping them up. “Oh, please, Mr. Exterminator, don’t kill me!” they cry, “I’ve got a husband and a baby girl waiting for me at home! I’ll do anything!” They hold the character for a few seconds, before turning towards Korse and grinning. “How was that? Did I get the part?”

Korse briefly wonders how much of what Party just said was true. Were they married? Did they have a child? Did they have a  _ home?  _ He was.. He was getting too concerned over some kid he was supposed to kill seven minutes ago.

“There is nothing stopping me from killing you right now,” he threatens, stepping forward again. The killjoy’s grin drops entirely. They slide off the counter and now stand in front of Korse, still shorter and still putting on a show.

“Do it, then.” It’s a challenge. Party crosses their arms and rests their weight on one foot, hip cocked out to the side, devious eyes now defiant. Korse had thought that they would be older. Yes, he’s read their file (city-born, age nineteen), but didn’t imagine that the figurehead-- the  _ leader  _ \-- of a full revolution could be so young. He doesn’t want to think about that. That the person standing before him, this killjoy so unafraid of death, is barely an adult in the eyes of Battery City. He wonders if all the other killjoys are their age. He wonders if all the ones he’s killed were that age. 

Korse grimaces, and shakes his head. He’s not going to think about that. Scarecrows aren’t supposed to have morals. He grips his gun a little tighter, hand starting to cramp, but then sighs, looking away. “I said I  _ could  _ kill you. Could, and should. But I won’t,” he growls at the floor.

Party leans back, smirking now in satisfaction, tossing their head to get hair out of their eyes. “I knew it.” They push the bag of supplies to the side and sit on the counter again. They put their elbows on their knees, chin back in hands, looking up at him. “Are you re-thinkin’ your life choices, or is it just ‘cause you think I’m pretty?”

“What?” Korse’s head snaps up and he stares at Party. Pretty? Is that what they just said? They stare right back, hazel eyes big and unblinking.

“Are you rethinking your life choices,” they say slowly, “or are you not shooting me because you think I’m pretty?” Every syllable is over-enunciated, now with what Korse recognizes as a Battery City accent.

“I’m--” he says stiffly, “I do not find you attractive.” Korse clears his throat and straightens up slightly.

“You don’t? Well ain’t that a shame.” They toss their hair out of their eyes again, before hopping down from the counter and grabbing their bag. “Even though I know you’re lying.” They brush past Korse and head for the cracked glass door.

“Wha- Where are you going?” Korse demands, turning around as Party brushes past. They stop and look over their shoulder through a curtain of cherry red hair.

“Me?” They point to themself.

"Yes, you.” He can’t let some punk get on his nerves so much. He’s letting some punk really get on his nerves.

“Home,” Party says simply, and starts to walk for the door again. Korse, without thinking, reaches out a hand and grabs their wrist, stopping them in place once more. They wrench away with surprising force, hunching their shoulders, head ducked down, arm going up to shield their face, and they break into a run. The cracked glass door bangs against the outside wall of the gas station. Tires squeal in the distance, and a car speeds across the horizon, dust blooming behind it.

Korse wonders when they learned to hide fear so well.

**Author's Note:**

> this one was pretty fun to write, party's a jerk and i love them.  
> comment and leave kudos if you enjoyed!! <3


End file.
